A Game of Chess
by Sophia Night
Summary: A short flirt with the character of General Grievous. Oneshot, but with a potential for extension. Inspired by Tori Amos' Bouncing Off Clouds.


**A Game of Chess**

_Disclaimer: I do not own the rights of the Star Wars universe or any character from it. I do, however, own the character of Lady Shiela, so hands off! :P_

The variable possibilities of the moves made patterns in her head, and she calculated the probabilities of victory for each move. First the white, then the black.

She pushed a pawn forward, turned the board and shifted in her seat before moving another piece.

Foreign politicians filed past her, an ill-hidden determination drawing them towards the corner with hot drinks, and the horizon beyond the panorama windows turned slowly rosy with the setting sun. She looked out over the city and sighed. It was preparing for the buzzing night life. The negotiations between the Republic and the separatist systems would still last for several hours into the night.

He moved the opposite knight forward, his massive figure casting a dark shadow over her and the board. She turned her head and looked up into his face. She hadn't noticed his approach.

Her gaze turned to the game again, and she moved one of the bishops to the edge of the board.

He took a seat opposite her. One slender duranium finger pushed a pawn two steps towards her.

She turned her dark brown eyes towards him.

"Tell me, General," she said, taking on a bright tone, "what brought you into politics?"

"An explosion."

His golden reptilian eyes didn't leave the board.

"An explosion?"

Silence. His fingers tapped the smooth surface of the glass table.

"Would you like to tell me about it?" she asked, heaving an eyebrow and moving another pawn.

"Maybe." One of his bishops shot forward. "Some day."

Their gazes fixed each other, both trying desperately to learn the other's secrets. Not being successful, they both glared at the board again.

The lively chatter of the other diplomats carried to them from the coffee corner. The lights of the city below the congress buildings illuminated an increasingly dark atmosphere.

She chose one of her knights and moved it forward, fixing her eyes on him again. The warm lights of the hall made golden reflections on his brushed duranium head and hands. A white tunic covered his broad droid shoulders and lay motionlessly against his widely curved chest. Only the rasping sound of breath betrayed the presence of living organs inside the metal shell.

And his eyes, of course. They occupied two deep holes in his duranium mask of a face. Surrounded by softly wrinkled dark red folds of flesh and emphasized by two vertical ornamental furrows on his metal forehead, these exceedingly moist eyes with their vertical pupils were the only conveyors of facial expression. Mouth and nose were a grille in the mask, and two duranium plates flanked the face instead of ears.

They played on in silence for some minutes, quickly reducing the number of pieces on the board.

She decided to give it another go and leaned across the table, nearly upsetting her own king with one of her long plaits.

"Which species do you belong to, General?" she asked with genuine interest.

She had never seen anything like him, and her curiosity finally carried her away.

"I'm a Kaleesh, from the planet of Kalee," he said, "check."

Separatists. Guerrillas and partisans. According to some, even terrorists. She had heard a lot about the Kaleesh, but being an Ambassador of the Republic, she had never visited their planet. It would have been too dangerous.

"Kalee breeds warriors," he continued, his eyes gaining a distant, almost dreamy look, "fierce, fast and strong. We are not afraid of dying for a cause."

"Even if it's not your cause?"

His gaze flicked back into reality, and he eyed her with utter arrogance and contempt.

"Obviously, Lady Shiela, you're afraid of dying," he rasped.

She let out a bright laughter to disarm his suddenly foul mood. Apparently, she had touched upon a well-guarded nerve.

"You're wrong, General," she smiled, "I'm not at all afraid of dying. I'm afraid of dying at the hands of the wrong person."

"And who might that be?" he asked, narrowing his eyes and leaning menacingly close across the chess board.

"I'll tell you, when you tell me about the explosion," she ventured, giving her smile a twist of mockery.

She was swimming in shark-infested waters now. For a short moment, it looked as if his jaw would have dropped if he had had one. Then, he burst into a deep uncontrolled laughter, his moist eyes disappearing into the folds of their fleshy padding. The laughter subsided into a low chuckle which turned into a hoarse bronchitic cough.

"It's a pleasure to negotiate with you, Lady Shiela," he said, regaining control of his windpipe and leaning back in his seat, "strictly off the record, of course."

She smiled and looked down at the remaining pieces on the board. It was her move.

"Checkmate. Thank you for the game, General Grievous."

She stood up, but he grabbed her hand.

"A revenge, Lady Shiela?"

"Tomorrow. Let's get back to the council."

"As you wish, my Lady."

He touched her hand to his artificial mouth and forehead as a gallant gesture of consent.

She moved away without looking back and mingled quickly with the other politicians, feeling his pointy gaze in the back of her neck.

The city lights below reflected the starry night sky above the buildings, and General Grievous, too, set his mechanical body in motion towards the congress hall.


End file.
